


you got to let me know

by Lexie



Series: go all in [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 13:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10308572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: Zhenya sneakily slides his phone up in time for one quick picture. He gets the backs of the bride and her father, slightly blurred, and then, perfectly in frame beyond them: the maid of honor, the priest, the groom still looking like his head is going to explode, and Sid.If he's honest with himself, Zhenya mostly gets Sid.Or: the one where a bunch of hockey-playing firefighters (and a few hockey players who don't fight fires at all) go to Montreal for a wedding.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A few years ago, I started writing a five times fic that was titled, because I am a creative mastermind, "Five weddings and then another wedding." It turns out that six is a lot of weddings to write, and I never finished it. But here's one of the weddings. 
> 
> This is set about two years after [stop, drop, and roll](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2552153/chapters/5673728), and it will make little to no sense without reading that monster first (sorry). Title from "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by the Clash.

Sid has been telling Zhenya that he “can’t be late” for at least an hour. 

"I knew I should have made you get your own cab," Sid says, drifting into the doorway of the hotel bathroom.

Sid looks good in the navy suit that all the groomsmen are wearing. Zhenya isn't sure which friend or member of Sid's family managed to get Sid to take his measurements properly, but Zhenya owes a bottle of wine to whoever did, because unlike the boxy suit that Sid pulled out of his closet for Zhenya's roommates' wedding a few months ago, this jacket skims the frankly obscene curve of his waist and the pants actually fit him. Zhenya made a determined attempt at peeling him out of this suit when he first saw him in it earlier, but Sid had held firm, citing the need to be on time. 

Sid is too responsible for his own good.

However Zhenya made an important contribution here, too — he bullied Sid out of slicking back his hair like an 18-year-old kid who has no idea how to dress himself. 

Zhenya eyes Sid now with satisfaction.

"I'm in the wedding," Sid says, like repeating it more firmly is going to convince Zhenya to hurry up. They've been in Montreal for two days and he's already on at least his thirtieth repetition of that fact. 

"I'm almost done, there's time," Zhenya insists, standing at the mirror and fiddling with his tie. After this, he just needs to grab his jacket and put the last touch on his hair.

Sid rolls his eyes. His amused acceptance is starting to shade into real annoyance, Zhenya suspects, but it's still at the low level where it's funny to Zhenya instead of setting off, as Taylor put it on one occasion when they were arguing, "total nuclear winter." Zhenya doesn't genuinely fight with Sid very often, but when they do, Zhenya privately thinks of that phrase of Taylor's again. It's depressingly accurate. 

There'll be no fighting today, though; not on a happy day like this. The real danger, Zhenya thinks grimly, is crying. He's an emotional guy. He has never been good at holding himself together during weddings. 

Sid huffs a sharp breath, apparently fed up with Zhenya fiddling with his own tie. He steps in, bats Zhenya's hands away, loosens the knot, and starts re-tying it. It was a perfectly good knot before, but Sid's exasperation makes Zhenya chuckle in Sid's face.

Sid ignores him. His hands are deft and sure, moving quickly. He tightens the knot enough that Zhenya starts laughing again and makes a choking noise in protest, and Sid finally cracks a smile again. 

Zhenya thinks Sid's still a little stressed, over this whole "best man" thing. 

"There," says Sid. He pats Zhenya's tie flat, and Zhenya knows Sid's not actually angry when he lets his hands linger on Zhenya's chest. 

Zhenya catches Sid by the suit jacket lapels and lightly pulls him in. "I do better," he pronounces.

"You're full of shit," Sid says. "When you did it, it looked like you tied it in the dark."

"Rude," Zhenya accuses, and he leans in and kisses Sid. 

Sid opens his mouth and leans into him, so Zhenya pushes his luck and slides his hands under Sid's jacket, along his sides. Sid is warm and solid and broad-shouldered and he really does look hot in that suit; he raises a hand to Zhenya's face and Zhenya crowds in closer.

"Are you guys making out in the bathroom?" Taylor calls dubiously, into the silence. They jerk apart.

"God, Taylor, I'm fixing Geno's tie." Sid is the worst at not sounding guilty; it's incredible. Sometimes Zhenya doesn't even understand how Sid has survived this long. 

Sid goes out into the bedroom. Taylor mutters something to him, out there, which Zhenya thinks may have been, "You're doing _something_."

Sid doesn't say anything to her that Zhenya can hear, and he comes back with Zhenya's suit jacket. He jiggles it impatiently at Zhenya. Zhenya laughs at him, but he lets Sid shove him into his jacket, first one arm, then the other.

"Seriously, I can't be late," Sid says, warning, and he smacks Zhenya’s ass and goes out the door again before Zhenya can chirp him about wasting time with that kiss.

"Leave Geno alone, Sid; some people are turtles," Taylor yells.

"I'm not turtle," Zhenya defends. "I'm go!" He buttons his suit jacket shut and, with a final pat to his hair, steps out of the bathroom.

Sid is nowhere to be found. Taylor is sprawled on her stomach across Sid and Zhenya's bed, probably wrinkling the very pretty blue dress she's wearing. She puts down her phone and gives Zhenya some sarcastic applause.

Zhenya looks at her balefully. She's lucky her hair is styled, or she'd be getting a noogie, grown-up young lady or not. "Rude," he says. "Like brother. All Crosbys rude."

"You miss me while I’m at university," she chirps cheerfully, bouncing up and grabbing her purse. It's true, though she doesn't need to know that. "Sid went down to hail a cab; we should probably go before he, like, abandons us here."

"He won't," Zhenya says confidently, patting himself down to be sure he has his wallet, his phone, and his key card. The door clicks shut behind him, and he follows Taylor to the elevator.

"He totally would," Taylor says, stabbing the elevator button with one hand and texting furiously with the other.

Zhenya thinks she's almost definitely wrong. 

Probably.

But just in case, Zhenya hits the down button a few more times.

*

Sid proves Zhenya right: he's waiting for them downstairs in the lobby, where the decor is sleek and shining, everything gold and white. This is easily the fanciest hotel that Zhenya has ever stayed in, since the hotel he used to work in definitely doesn't count. 

"The doorman's getting a cab," Sid says, which, case in point: there's a doorman.

Really, it's probably too nice a place for all of them. Nealer showed up from Toronto last night with Paulie and two six-packs of Moulson's, and they crammed 15 hockey players and significant others into one room until the neighbours finally made a complaint to the front desk at two in the morning.

Out in the sunshine in front of the hotel, Sid slides on a pair of sunglasses, which were almost certainly a gift; they look much more like something Tanger would pick out than like Sid's usual style. Between the sunglasses and the sleek suit, Sid looks devastatingly cool. Not the first phrase Zhenya would usually associate with his steady, responsible, very Canadian boyfriend.

"Hey," Zhenya says, falling into step beside Sid. He hooks Sid's fingers with his, just for a minute, as they walk to the taxi idling at the curb. "Look nice."

"Thanks," says Sid, squeezing his fingers and shooting him the crooked, sideways smile that always makes Zhenya's traitor heart skip a beat or two. "You too."

"What about me?" Taylor chirps. She's a smart girl — she made a beeline right for the passenger seat, and she folds herself in, pulling her skirt so it won't get stuck in the door. "Don't I look nice?"

"Yes, yes, very pretty," says Zhenya, closing the door for her. He generously lets Sid slide into the backseat first.

"I feel," Taylor says, and then she finishes with an English word Zhenya doesn't recognise, but her complaining tone is clear enough. Zhenya climbs into the cab and shuts the door. Taylor turns around in the front seat.

"How long your hair take?" Zhenya asks, mostly to mollify her but also because it looks interesting, a complicated twist of a braid pinned up in a thick coil.

"Oh my god, forever," she says. Both of them ignore Sid, who is giving directions to the driver in French. "Hilary helped me."

"Knighter?" he asks doubtfully. Knighter is probably the least girly person Zhenya has ever met in his life. The only time he's ever seen her wear anything that isn't athletic gear or a Fire Services T-shirt was at Chuey's wedding last summer.

"She's a braid master," Taylor says firmly.

"Taylor," says Sid, and he asks her something in French. She answers, and the two of them conference with the driver for a minute before he nods and pulls out into traffic.

"Gonna get lost?" Zhenya teases them.

"Nope," Sid says, grimly determined, like they're going to make it to the church on time by his pure force of will. 

Zhenya stifles a laugh, and pats Sid's tense thigh, and pulls out his phone. Tanger is still Instagramming from another cab, so they can’t be running too far behind. There's a video of him and Cath smiling at the camera, Cath waving and saying something in French, and then a still shot of Montreal passing by the car window.

Zhenya takes a picture of the back of Taylor's head, traffic visible out the windows around her, and he tags her and Knighter in it. Judging by the immediate giggle from the front seat, Taylor has her phone in hand and sees it right away.

Sid leans over against his shoulder, so Zhenya scrolls through and shows him the pictures that have already started going up on Flower and Vero's wedding hashtag. He recognizes many of the faces, though some must be family and friends from here in Quebec.

"Can look," Zhenya points out, jerking his head at Sid's own phone resting on his leg. Sid finally bit the bullet and got an iPhone last year; the learning curve was hilarious. He still refuses to get into social media, though, aside from the Facebook account that he neglects.

"I like looking at yours, eh?" Sid says, warm against his side.

*

Zhenya feels less warmly toward Sid when they arrive at the church and he finds out that Sid _fucking lied about the time they had to be there_.

"Wow, right on time," says Tanger, looking impressed. He and the three other groomsmen wearing the same navy suit — Sid wears it the best, Zhenya has already decided — have gathered at the back of the church, around Flower, who's slipping in and out of French so fast that Zhenya can't even tell when he's speaking English.

"You say we late," Zhenya says to Sid, frowning.

"I lied," Sid says, completely unapologetic, and he passes Taylor his sunglasses and slaps Zhenya's shoulder, and goes to join the groomsmen.

"Worst," Zhenya says darkly, because they're standing in a pretty, sunlit church and he can't say the things he's thinking.

"He really is," Taylor agrees, tucking the sunglasses into her purse. "He got you here on time, though." 

Sid is now in the middle of the group, laughing and fixing Flower's tie for him. Zhenya wants to be annoyed at him, but it's hard when he looks so handsome and is clearly talking Flower out of some nerves.

"Guys!" someone calls, and Taylor hauls Zhenya with her as they go to talk with the groomsmen's dates. Tanger's girlfriend Cath is there, and the other three women are familiar from last night's rehearsal dinner; they're all dating or married to Flower's brother and two childhood friends. 

Zhenya feels very fucking tall. He glances down at his phone.

Taylor looks over from her part of the conversation, a couple of times, but she lets him pretend he doesn't understand much English.

*

The church fills up slowly at first, and then all at once. Zhenya is rescued from looming over the wives and girlfriends when Duper and his wife and several other teammates arrive to sit with them. Flower and Vero did set a long-threatened cap on the number of teammates invited, though there's already been talk of a full-team party back in Toronto later this summer, but a lot of them still made the trip here — Knighter, Nealsy, Olli, Duper, and Paulie, who Zhenya kind of thinks is here as Nealer's plus-one.

"Wow," says Knighter, "who convinced Crosby that suits are supposed to fit you?"

"I'm gonna kiss them," Zhenya says, to laughter. The groomsmen have lined up at the altar, Sid and Tanger closest to Flower. Even with Tanger's haircut factored in, Zhenya still thinks Sid is far and away the most handsome of them.

"Then I think you're gonna kiss Marc's mom, Geno," Cath says, laughing and pointing over at the venerable lady in the front row, who has her son's big goofy smile and a big flowered hat.

"I do it, you see," Zhenya threatens.

*

By the time the music starts, the little church is bursting at the seams. Zhenya turns around with everyone else to see Vero, grinning and beautiful in a simple white lace dress, but after watching her take the first few steps down the aisle on her father's arm, he turns back around.

Zhenya wouldn't have said it was even possible for Flower to smile any wider than he's seen him smile before. Flower's a happy guy; he's _always_ smiling. Now that Zhenya is used to his stupid accent, hands down his biggest problem with Flower's English is understanding him as he talks around a big grin. But here, now, Flower proves him wrong. Everyone up there is beaming, but Fleury alone could probably power half the city with the look on his face. 

Tanger leans over and claps Flower on the back, muttering something that makes both Flower and Sid laugh. And Sid — he's glancing at Flower, and smiling; and turning to watch Vero walk down the aisle, and smiling; and catching Zhenya's eye and smiling then, too. 

Zhenya smiles back at him. He can't not. He's hopeless, when it comes to Sid.

Zhenya sneakily slides his phone up in time for one quick picture. He gets the backs of the bride and her father, slightly blurred, and then, perfectly in frame beyond them: the maid of honor, the priest, Flower still looking like his head is going to explode, and Sid.

If he's honest with himself, Zhenya mostly gets Sid.

*

The ceremony is in French, which Zhenya probably should have seen coming. 

He has Taylor on one side and Cath on the other, though, and they whisper occasional snatches of translation to him. From the muttering behind him, it sounds like other French speakers are doing the same for his teammates. It's pretty standard stuff, as weddings go. Zhenya hasn't been to many in Canada, but while the rituals aren't the same as what he knows (he's forever fucking wrong on when to sit and when to stand), the same feeling is there. The priest talks about love and commitment and tradition, and Flower and Vero exchange vows that seem like they might be standard, which is probably for the best given the kind of bullshit that Flower comes up with when he's allowed to improvise.

That talent comes into play when the priest invites them to kiss. Flower grabs his new wife and dips her perilously, her shriek of laughter echoing to the rafters, and the whole church rings with cheers and applause as they kiss. Zhenya puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles; the groomsmen and bridesmaids are whooping and laughing. Someone in the row of teammates behind Zhenya wolf whistles.

In the procession out, each bridesmaid matches up with a groomsman. Zhenya is still grinning, Taylor cackling something in his ear about Flower playing to a crowd, and he's not ready for how strongly he feels at the sight of all of those neatly matched couples.

Sid has one of the maids of honor on his arm. She's a little blonde with a big laugh who went to school with Vero; she's the kind of woman who, three years ago, Zhenya would have pointed to as his one and only type, even if now he can admit he has at least two types: tiny blonde women with great tits, and dark-haired athletic men with great asses. 

Sid would never say Camille was his type, Zhenya knows, because Sid's type has always been men, but Zhenya still feels something sour in the pit of his stomach over how naturally her hand fits into the crook of Sid's elbow. He looks so attentive to her, his head bent as he listens to something she's saying, and he's smiling. They're _both_ smiling. They look like they belong on one of those stupid photo-postcard Christmas cards together.

Zhenya is apparently not as subtle as he'd like to be. "Easy, asshole," Nealsy mutters, clapping his shoulder from the row behind. "Your boy's super gay."

"Fuck off, Lazy," Zhenya mutters back, but he puts on a happier face.

*

Whoever did the table arrangements — Zhenya suspects Vero — knew what they were doing. The bride and groom are scheduled to sit at a table with the two best men, the two maids of honor, and their dates. Zhenya had wondered if they'd be a little isolated, but it turns out that the rest of the team is at the table next to theirs, which is a mixed blessing because, while cheerful conversation flies easily, Nealsy is apparently irritated that some joker wrote his place card as "Mr. & Mr. Paul Martin" and he starts pelting Zhenya with bits of shredded cardstock about five minutes in.

One of the maids of honor brought a boyfriend who's a big football fan. While they wait for the wedding party, Zhenya quite happily splits his time between arguing all the ways that this man is wrong about the Euro 2012 final, and flicking paper goods back at Nealer.

When the wedding party finally shows up, there's a lot of cheering. Sid manages to be the first escapee, sliding into the chair beside Zhenya.

"Good job," Zhenya tells him.

"I didn't do much," Sid says. "My job is mostly to stand there, smile, and make sure Flower doesn't fuck anything up."

"So you do good job," Zhenya repeats, rolling his eyes. "Stand, look very pretty, Flower doesn't fuck up."

"What?" says the man himself, throwing himself down at the table with Vero right at his heels. "I fucked nothing up!" He holds his hand up to Vero, and she slaps him a high five before going back to trying to open the bottle of champagne someone left chilling on their table.

"Honey," says Flower warily, and then he starts to say something in French, and Sid lunges and manages to tilt the champagne bottle up at the very last second. The cork pops, flying safely up into the air, thanks to Sid, instead of straight into Flower's face.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, he just saved my life again," says Flower. "Sid, I'd kiss you if my wife wasn't in the way."

"It's not like you haven't done it before," says Vero sensibly, to laughter. 

*

Everyone talks over each other, over dinner. Flower and Vero are holding hands under the table, which has to make eating that much slower, but neither of them seem to mind.

Sid, meanwhile, has to be watched, because he's been nervous for months about giving a toast at this party. Zhenya lets him have two fortifying glasses of champagne, but then he starts stealing Sid's drinks and downing them for him when he's not paying attention. Zhenya has not spent a week listening to this damn speech over and over again just for Sid to get tipsy and fuck it up. He's saving Sid from himself.

He's also saving Sid from really good champagne, so by the time the maids of honor have spoken and Tanger has given a completely incomprehensible speech in French, and it's Sid's turn, Zhenya is maybe a little drunk himself. He props his chin in his hand and looks up at Sid, who has stood up at their table. A while back, he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. It's a good look on him. He has stupidly strong forearms. It's how he puts so much power into his backhand, and also gives the best fucking hand jobs.

Zhenya honestly doesn't pay his best attention to Sid's toast. This one is mostly in English, thankfully, but Zhenya has already heard it a million times.

He lets the words wash over him without putting in the effort to listen closely or translate. He finds English sort of soothing in that way, when he doesn't have to pay attention to it; when he can listen to the rise and fall of the words instead of their individual meaning. He watches the easy smile on Sid's mouth, the light flush to his face. He hears the crowd's rumbles of laughter hitting in all the right places, and watches Sid relax into it.

The first hundred times they'd run through the speech together, Sid sounded stiff, like he was blandly spouting positive talking points to the team after losing a hockey game, but you'd never know it now. That's the thing about Sid. He's good at everything, and anything he's not good at, he drills relentlessly until he's got it down. Just about the only thing that Zhenya hasn't seen him master — aside from SOCOM and Mario Kart, which he still sucks at — is Russian, and it's not for lack of effort. He got some computer program that he used all last fall and spring before Zhenya took him to Russia; he made Zhenya test him and pronounce words for him endlessly. Zhenya suspects that a big part of the reason that Sid finally got a smartphone was for his dorky language learning apps. And still, Sid is terrible at Russian.

He really, really tried, though, which Zhenya thinks endeared him to his parents more than effortlessly conversing with them ever could have.

"And so," Sid is saying.

Hopefully he isn't going to want feedback, because Zhenya zoned out through the entire fucking speech, fuck.

"To Vero and Marc." Sid glances down, frowns in confusion for a split second, and then reaches over and finds his champagne glass in its new home in front of Zhenya. He raises the glass. "Félicitation."

"Félicitation!" the whole room echoes, glasses raised.

Flower jumps up and vigorously hugs Sid. It's a hug that suggests he'd wrap his legs around Sid if he was just a little less sober, but Sid only laughs and hugs him back just as hard. The hockey table mockingly "aww"s at them and at least one voice catcalls. Vero rises and hugs Sid, too. It must have gone well — she's smiling from ear to ear and there are tears shining in her eyes, though because Zhenya didn't pay attention, he doesn't know whether they're tears of laughter or tears because she was touched.

When Sid sits down, he accepts everyone's congratulations on a job well done, then leans over and says, "So _you're_ what's been happening to my champagne." He's grinning at Zhenya, his face flushed and eyes bright. 

Sometimes being the full focus of Sid's intense focus can be a little overwhelming. This is one of those times.

"I saved you," Zhenya tells him. "You can drink it now, since you finished talking."

"You know," Sid says, after a minute, looking pleased with himself, "I think I actually understood some of that. My Russian is getting better."

"It really isn't," Zhenya tells him, and he knows he's right when Sid just beams at him instead of taking offense.

"Are we already at the 'G won't speak English' part of the night?" says Tanger.

"No," says Zhenya, in English, mostly to be contrary.

Sid ignores the entire exchange. "I think it's probably time for me to start drinking yours for a while," he says, and, true to his word, he drains Zhenya's glass in one long drink and then sets the empty glass off to the side, out of reach.

Zhenya isn't _that_ drunk. He's sober enough to know it's not a good idea to announce that he's noticed that he is not the only one doing it, Tanger has been subtly drinking his girlfriend's champagne too, though he only just manages to shut his mouth on the comment.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sid teases, chair pulled close enough that he can tap his shoulder against Zhenya's, and Zhenya pulls a face at him.

*

When Flower and Vero go to have their first dance, Sid stands close in the crowd, hands in his pockets as he leans against Zhenya's shoulder. Vero and Flower are ordinarily already two of the happiest people Zhenya knows, and the sheer joy on their faces is overwhelming. Vero is radiant. They move like they're each an extension of the other. Zhenya's throat has gone a little thick; he swallows, and glances down at Sid for a distraction.

Looking at Sid is wildly unhelpful. He's watching the bride and groom, smiling, his face soft. 

Zhenya glances up and stares at the ceiling for the rest of the song. It's safer.

As the song finally ends, the DJ says, "Let's get the wedding party out there; all right!"

"S'il vous plaît," calls Flower, and then he adds something that makes everyone laugh.

Zhenya glances at Sid, who offers his hand. Zhenya takes it, and they step onto the dance floor together.

They're all going out there. One maid of honor and her boyfriend with the shitty opinions about football, the other one with her husband; Tanger and Cath, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen with their dates. Two of the bridesmaids are dancing together. It's the kind of silly dancing that means they're almost certainly doing this for fun and because neither of them brought dates, not because they're dating each other, but they're out there.

Sid wraps his arms around Zhenya's neck and pulls him in close, and Zhenya rests his hands on Sid's back. The music is cheesy, some kind of slow pop ballad, but Zhenya is full and still a little drunk and he has Sid pressed up against him, gently swaying off the beat. He's happy.

Zhenya's mouth is just about level with Sid's ear. "Speech, good job," he says.

"You didn't hear a word of it," Sid says, a knowing grin in his voice.

That cat's out of the bag. "I look at you," Zhenya says. "Distract."

Sid laughs softly, his back shaking under Zhenya's hands.

"Everybody clap, it's good," Zhenya insists. He glances to the side. Flower and Vero are dancing; she's talking, and Flower's whole face is lit up as he listens to her. They look like they stepped off the cover of a magazine, the groom in his dark suit and the bride in her white dress and veil.

Sid is watching them, too. He wants this, Zhenya knows. He's never met anyone more ready to get married and have kids.

"I can't believe they're finally married," Sid says.

Zhenya remembers this from the million practice runs of the toast that Sid had ruthlessly subjected him to. "Eighteen years," he says.

"They've been together almost as long as Taylor has been alive," Sid says, wondering.

"How's Flower get such good girl," says Zhenya, and Sid laughs.

"I don't think even he knows," he says. "I've seen pictures; he was the worst-looking teenager."

"Worst-looking now," Zhenya says, and Sid laughs again.

Zhenya can be here, making Sid laugh; stealing Taylor for a dance; asking Nealer why he's not dancing with his date ("I will throw this beer in your fucking face," says Nealer); sitting around a table with a bunch of teammates, eating cake and watching several of them blatantly cheat at cards.

He doesn't have to decide, just yet.


End file.
